The Presbyterian Magazine, 6. kötet

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Cortlandt Van Rensselaer
J. M. Wilson, 1856
 

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5. oldal - Hold fast the form of sound words, which thou hast heard of me, in faith and love which is in Christ Jesus.
212. oldal - Him God raised up the third day, and shewed him openly ; not to all the people, but unto witnesses chosen before of God, even to us, who did eat and drink with him after he rose from the dead.
440. oldal - Who is wise, and he shall understand these things ? prudent, and he shall know them ? for the ways of the Lord are right, and the just shall walk in them : but the transgressors shall fall therein.
211. oldal - Verily, verily, I say unto you, the servant is not greater than his lord, neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.
484. oldal - But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved ;) and hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus...
59. oldal - But and if ye suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are ye: and be not afraid of their terror, neither be troubled...
306. oldal - God; so for curious and carnal persons lacking the Spirit of Christ to have continually before their eyes the sentence of God's predestination is a most dangerous downfall, whereby the Devil doth thrust them either into desperation or into wretchlessness of most unclean living no less perilous than desperation.
108. oldal - But the Angel of the Lord by night opened the prison doors, and brought them forth, and said, " Go, stand and speak in the temple to the people all the words of this life.
163. oldal - Thou too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me — Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth!
140. oldal - Our soul is escaped even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler ; the snare is broken, and we are delivered.

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